Tituba sent me away to gather some offerings. She suggested a lot of rum and cigars, I was going to have to make a big offering. When I returned, she led me into the basement. This is more what I expected a voodoo place to look like, but still far off. A small alter at the back of the room was spotless despite the dust elsewhere. In front of it was a golden sword jammed directly into the concrete.

“What’s with the sword,” I ask.

“The sword in front of the alter is the symbol of Ogou,” she explains. “Even if we are not summoning him, I have been pledged to him. I must still show him the proper respect for rescuing me, and changing my life. Go place your offering on the alter.”

I do as I’m told and stand where she points. Soon she begins chanting in a language I don’t understand, but resembles several all at once. Nothing happens and I’m suddenly feeling skeptical about the entire process. Still, I’ve come too far to back out now. I made this woman lunch; I’m going to see this through to the end. I remain still and focused on the alter, yet nothing comes.

I turned to question Tituba and the world stops, I feel sick to my stomach as if I had been spun around over and over again. Next to me stood Tituba, I’m completely unsure of when she moved. Or, did I move? Flower petals fall gracefully from the ceiling and burn as they touch the ground, filling the room with the scent of burning corpses, beautiful scent and cigar smoke. A large black door opened on the alter from nowhere. I stood unable to move, waiting for the door to open.

When it finally did a tall ebony complected man stepped from it before the door vanished. He stood there in a beautiful suit that changed from black to purple and back as he paced the alter as if it was a stage. The top half of his face painted like a skull hid his face but I could tell he was attractive beneath it. He knelt down and opened a bottle of rum before tossing his head back and drinking. Somehow the top hat remained fixed to his bald head.

“You call this an offering,” he tosses the empty bottle against the wall. “It’s expensive but it has no taste, no flavor.” He takes one of the cigars and lights it, inhaling deeply “Okay, this is a cigar,” at least he liked something. “What did you call me here for,” he asks and I’m finally free to move.

“I’d like you to resurrect mu husband.”

“Tituba, you brought me a married whore,” he asks getting close to her unmoving body.

“I’m not a whore,” I respond instinctively.

“Human women are all whores. I’ll whip out my cock right now and you’d worship it if it meant getting Justin back,” he flicks his wrist dismissively. “Look at Tituba, summoning me as if she hasn’t already whored herself out to Ogou. She didn’t even have the decency to hide his golden sword. Tell me, does he fuck you with a golden cock as well,” he laughs when she doesn’t answer, still frozen.

“I didn’t say his name.”

“Whore, I am the master of the dead. Do not assume I am some funeral director who needs things to be explained to him. You do not die, without passing through my realm, and I haven’t seen any signs of him coming through. That means you fucked with something and it doesn’t take a genius to see that.”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

“Will you revive him,” I ask.

“Hell no,” he laughs uncontrollably and the room shakes slightly.

“Why not,” Tituba warned me about questions Loa but I don’t care.

“Because you ain’t got nothing I want,” he shrugs.

“I’ve got me.”

“Get naked, let me see you,” he licks his lips before lighting a cigar.

I kick my shoes off, and unbutton my jeans. Slowly I roll them down revealing my legs to Baron Samedi. Next I quickly discard the T-shirt I’m wearing. Soon I’m standing barefoot on the concrete basement in nothing but my bra and panties. He motions for me to do a spin, and I do. Soon he’s left the alter and stands near me. He strokes my face, his hand neither hot nor cold. Slowly he grips my hips from behind and moves them with him beginning to dance. I only hope it’s a rather large cigar in his pocket. He releases me and takes a seat on the alter placing one leg on top of the other.

I feel dirty and insulted as I look into his eyes. No man outside of Justin has ever touched me like that, and he’s smiling as if it were a sport to him. Tituba’s unmoving eyes meet mine, and they say it all. She warned me of this. Still I’m willing to go as far as I need to, as long as it gets Justin back. The Baron motions for me to lose the bra and panties. I reach behind and unfasten my bra, hesitating before removing it.

“Stop,” he yells out, he doesn’t need to tell me twice. “Tituba, not only did you bring me a whore, she’s a stripper and an idiot.”

“I’m sorry Baron,” Tituba is finally free to move and speaks, just to throw me under the bus.

“Stripper, put your clothes on. I told you I wasn’t doing anything for you and still you were willing to get naked so easily,” he seems offended.

“Why,” I ask grabbing at my clothes.

“Because you’re an idiot. You’re selfish. You’ve got no rhythm and you were about to willingly give yourself over to a man you don’t even know, supposedly to save your husband. Did you miss his cock so much that you would worship mine for all eternity?”

“I...,” is all I get before he cuts me off.

“You don’t love the man; you love the idea of him. You’re sad, lonely, broken and a fucking shell of a person. I could tell when I touched you that his was the only cock you’d ever touched. I wouldn’t want you as one of my brides, you’re boring in bed and unexperienced. Your taste in rum is trash and you only managed to get a good cigar by chance. Did you just buy the most expensive thing in the store? You got friends? You need to make some and I don’t mean old witch doctors,” the Baron placed both legs on the floor and waited for my response.

“What can I give you to bring him back,” I ask, sounding more desperate than intended.

“Not a damn thing,” he responded now twirling his top hat on one finger.

“Nothing?”

“Do you want my advice,” he asks. “Free of charge, the offering is enough for that.”

“If that’s all you’ll give me.”

“It is,” he laughs. “You need three things. First, you need to find yourself because you’ve been too wrapped up in who you are with this man, to learn who you are without him. Who the fuck is Sierra Evans and why is it so important she erase Sierra Thelusma? There’s nothing wrong with loving a good sausage, but it don’t make the world go round, as much as I’d like it if it did. Two, you need to get revenge, that’s what you really want right? You don’t give a damn if Justin comes back as long as you can kill whoever killed him. Well the opportunity has knocked at your door repeatedly and you haven’t taken it. Take it next time. Three, you need to stop trying to do everything for yourself. Nobody likes a lazy broad, but nobody likes a busy bitch either.”

“Is that all,” I ask.

“Yeah, that’s all. What the fuck you want from me? The key to life?”

“I don’t know.”

“I gave you what you needed,” he stands as the doorway appears again. Two women walk out and take the rum and cigars. “Can you believe her? Wanting to resurrect a man and she doesn’t even know why,” he speaks to the women. “Orevwa,” he waves as he walks through the vanishing door.